


Plans

by page_runner



Series: Pretzels [2]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Nightmares, now it's angst with a side of fluff, post-rundown job, so last we had fluff with a side of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9912920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/page_runner/pseuds/page_runner
Summary: “Hey, babe, quick question. How much of this was planned?”“Not this part,” she muttered. “My recon work didn’t indicate it would be a factor.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Pretzels, so uh, probably start there. Slight warning for very brief, very regretted violence.
> 
> Hugs as always to ferociousqueak for her beta'ing and general awesomeness.

The wind was picking up. It splattered rain, tinted orange by the streetlight, on the windows and Hardison watched the drops become streaks, listening to the quiet, even breaths from two sets of lungs. He could feel the slight rise and fall of Eliot’s body underneath his arm, head nestled beside his shoulder, while Parker lay sprawled across the bed on her stomach, her small form taking up the most room, limbs tangled in sheets, head inches from Eliot’s. She’d watched him until she was somehow satisfied that he wouldn’t up and vanish in the middle of the night.

He understood the impulse. He wanted to stare at both of them, spend hours marveling that the two most amazing people he knew were literally within his reach, warm and safe.

He’d known for years he loved them, but courting two people who’d built themselves better defenses than the firewall of the goddamn NSA, was not something you planned. Scoped out, sure, but plans went to shit far too often in his experience. Nate regularly moved through the first third of the alphabet, Hardison’s fingers flying to keep up, before they finally got their guy. And that was _Nate._ When he was the one making them, he might as well be cooking alphabet soup, no matter how many contingencies he planned for. And even then, Eliot was coming to rescue his ass. He couldn’t risk that. If this went wrong, it would break everything.

No plans.

He just took everything as it came. Figured out Parker and pretzels and the way she could flick through moods like cable channels. Remembered how Nana would give time and space to kids uncertain that they’d finally found something good. Most of them didn’t know what good even was, much less how to deal with it, at first.

He'd been interested in Eliot since just about day one. Lil’ guy like that layin’ out a handful of armed goons coming to kill him before his password cracker had worked its mojo? Who wouldn’t be into that? But in the years that followed, he’d accepted that Eliot was most likely a no-go...or maybe not. But probably. _Except that one time...and that other time..._

So he’d let him hug and then shove off, didn’t get jealous when he flirted with every woman around, because he’d get the growls and the glares and the sing-alongs in Lucille. And sometimes, he could bribe a bartender and have a nice, long look at Eliot’s ass while he whaled on Sterling. Good times.

Other times, he’d see the looks Eliot and Parker traded. For all Eliot’s vented frustration with Parker, there was something fragile and solid there that the two of them knew, and he hated that they knew it at all, but at least they could share it with each other, if not with him.

Nah, he couldn’t break this. Most things he’d be willing to try and fail at, but better if this never got off the ground, than if it crashed and burned.

Of course, there was no anticipating Parker.

They’d talked about Eliot and what he meant to them. They’d talked about feelings and pretzels and Parker’d said Sophie told her that love was jumping off buildings, which meant he needed to have a talk with Sophie about the types of metaphors she used around Parker. Girl took things far too literally for that. Gave her all sorts of ideas for dates involving excessive amounts of adrenaline.

Regardless, he was only _slightly_ less surprised than Eliot, when Parker made her move. Still, he’d managed to play it cool in the aftermath of her lip smack attack on Eliot, had followed her inside and up the back stairs.

_“Parker, Eliot’s standin’ out there in the rain, with a bleeding shoulder, trying to figure out what just hit him.”_

_“I didn’t hit him, I kissed him.”_

_“I think hitting him would’ve been less of a surprise.”_

_“He likes being kissed. He’s always kissing people.”_

_“Not us! He has very strict rules about kissing us.”_

_“Because of the hiding feelings thing.”_

_“Yeah, ‘cause of that.”_

_“Well, he’s bad at that. And when you’re bad at hiding something important, it gets stolen_ _.”_

_“Babe. You can’t steal Eliot’s feelings. How’d you feel if someone stole yours?”_

_“I hide the ones I don’t want stolen! He shouldn’t be mad at me for that!”_

_“You know how when we go an’ steal things? The people we stealin’ from get mad? And they get mad in dangerous ways? An’ then Eliot has to go punch them?”_

_“...Anyway, Plan A wasn’t enough, and okay fine, I overshot the mark on B, but he said he wanted pretzels.”_

_“Were you even listen—Hang on...Plan A? There was a Plan A?”_

_“We just finished Plan A. Do a job. The three of us. Technically, we did Plan A twice, and it almost worked. Twice. Mathematically, that makes no sense.”_

_“Well, he’s got a tendency to defy mathematics. And physics. And logic and reason while he’s at it. Also a tendency to get pissy when people surprise him with physical affection.”_

_“He said he—”_

_“Wanted pretzels, I know. And all I’m sayin’, girl, is that Eliot’s definition of pretzels is a bit more bread-based than yours is.”_

Somewhere in that conversation, Eliot had come up the stairs, far more quietly than a guy with a bullet hole in his thigh had any right to be moving, and overheard. He went down the stairs a helluva lot faster and louder, and Hardison had to follow, time and space be damned.

_“No more plans, Parker. I’ll talk to him.”_

_“Are you going to kiss him?”_

_“Not unless he kisses me first.”_

Which oddly enough, was more or less what happened. Now that he was thinking back, whatever plan Parker had in mind, it would’ve had to involve him. Not only that, but typically Parker’s plans followed a similar pattern: _Break in. If an alarm goes off, Hardison will fix it._ So like any other job where she dashed in without giving him a heads-up, once she’d gotten the door open, he’d needed to address the security system. Or, more accurately, Eliot’s insecurity system.

This led to some considerations.

  1. _Did Parker just wake up one day and think, “Let’s go steal an Eliot?”_
  2. _Exactly how pissed will Eliot be if he realizes that?_
  3. _Okay, so I low-key manipulated Eliot with the Brew-Pub, but that had been more of a “take the damn thing that I know you want anyway, but I have to pretend I’m an idiot, so you’re obliged to rescue me from my own stupid—”_



_Ah. I’m beginning to see what she did there._

He shifted slightly closer to Eliot. His arm was going to sleep, but he’d chop it off before even thinking of disturbing him.

After their talk turned into the beginnings of a make-out session downstairs, they’d moved up here, pausing to allow Parker to stitch up the bullet hole in Eliot’s shoulder. He’d taken it upon himself to distract Eliot as much as possible while Parker worked. No matter how stoic _Mr.-I’ve-Had-Worse_ always acted, that shit _hurt_.

Eliot didn’t complain, of course, but he definitely didn’t complain about Hardison’s distraction techniques either. Parker did, since Eliot wasn’t exactly sitting as still as he would have been if Hardison hadn’t discovered the nape of Eliot’s neck, and noises he could elicit with the slightest provocation. The guy was basically a Sontaran with that kind of weak spot and Hardison had every intention of exploiting it. _He’s definitely short, angry, good at hurting people, and has similar approaches to being a nursemaid. He’s a cute potato, too. Considerably more hair, though._

Parker, meanwhile, had found her own incentive for making Eliot behave. Exploiting the careless edge of pain in their relationship, she slid her free hand up the inside of his injured thigh until his nostrils flared and his breath jerked. He’d still, she’d complete a stitch, and Hardison would start up on his distraction again. Together they discovered a whole new range of guttural noises Eliot could make when appropriately prompted.

Once Eliot was free to move, he’d set about doing some prompting of his own.

Afterward, they’d collapsed, breathless and weightless, and Hardison was certain that if Parker pushed him off a building now, he’d just float away. He pulled Eliot close, half expecting an explicit death threat, given Eliot’s limited tolerance for nonviolent contact in the past. Instead, Eliot gave him a dopey smile, eyelids already heavy and drooping. He’d pressed into Hardison’s chest and stomach and groin as if he wanted to merge into one being before melting, his breath releasing in a slow sigh.

Eliot was, in his heart of hearts, a little spoon.

Hardison had lain there, trailing his fingers lazily over Eliot’s skin, sliding through his hair, dumb grin on his own face at the noises the man made when he found a sweet spot behind his ear. Parker, back from a quick trip to the bathroom, slipped in the bed more carefully than usual, lay her head down next to Eliot’s and watched him until she too shut her eyes.

And that left only him, finally drifting off himself. If this was a plan, it’d worked perfectly.

Or it did up until Eliot had a nightmare and accidentally tried to kill him. 

\-----

He knew something was wrong before he opened his eyes, before he was even fully conscious. Afterward, his brain filled in details. The rigid stillness of the form curled up next to him. The sweat-soaked sheets, the ragged breathing, the high, thin noise he’d expect coming from himself, or Parker on bad nights, but had never heard out of Eliot. Had never been allowed to hear.

Half-asleep, it seemed like the most sensible thing in the word to reach out and snug him close.

 _Dumb move, Hardison. Dumb move._  

Eliot flipped, snarling, teeth bared, sweaty hair flopping over his forehead, his forearm barred across Hardison’s throat, cutting off airflow, eyes out of focus. And _that_ was the moment Hardison fully woke up and recognized he’d been an idiot.

His brain gave him about 1.5 seconds to ponder that fact before heading straight for panic town, and having a panic attack about not being able to breathe, _while not being able to breathe_ , was the kind of not-fun he wished on bad guys, not himself in the middle of the night. Autoeroticasphixiation was _so_ not his kink.

Parker tackled Eliot, clinging to his back like a spider monkey, and they both fell off the bed, leaving Hardison gasping for air, hands clenching clammy sheets as his mind spun in a mantra of _I fucked up-can’t breathe-I-fucked-up-can’t-breathe-Ifuckedupcan’tbreathe._ Dimly he heard the bathroom door slam closed, but couldn’t find space on his hard drive to process it further, the sound just adding itself to the endless loop.

“ _...with me, Alec_. In. And out. In. And out.”

Parker. He could breathe for Parker. She’d taught him how, gave him refresher lessons every time his stupid lungs and brain had a failure to communicate and she never mocked him for it. He focused on that, on the even tone of her voice, methodically counting a baseline rhythm until his mantra faded, replaced by hers.

Finally, his lungs obeyed and everything settled back into its regular, stationary place in the room. He sat up, still trembling, and nodded at the bathroom door, eyebrows raised in a silent question. He didn’t want to think about what his voice sounded like. Parker sat next to him, her face made of glass—hard and smooth and close to cracking.

“He came back when we hit the floor. Started shaking,” she said, matter of fact and clinical. “I told him to take a shower and he bolted for the bathroom. I heard him throw up and now the shower’s going.”

_Fuck._

“Alec? Are you okay?”

Her voice wavered and he gave himself another mental kick for screwing this up before rasping, “Yeah. ‘S my fault.” Damn, that hurt.

She held a finger to his lips for a moment, then vanished, returning with ice water. It burned, sliding down his throat, but it also numbed, while clearing the last of the fog from his brain. “Thanks.” Still hurt to talk, but hell, maybe that would serve as a reminder that he shouldn’t wake someone like Eliot from a nightmare by grabbing him from behind.

Parker touched the sheets, still damp, and her nostrils flared. “Oh.” Girl was a fast study. But then Parker’d had plenty of bad nights. Him too, when the nights got extra muggy and still, or if a section of blanket managed to cover his nose and mouth.

“I tried to hold him, babe.”

“First time you tried that, I punched you. And kneed you in the--”

“ _I remember_. You’d think my subconscious would get the message,” he sighed. “But at least you felt completely justified. I don’t think Eliot’s on the same page.”

They both glanced at the closed door. The shower was still going.

“You know what we need right now?” Parker asked.

“We’re not callin’ Sophie.” He climbed out of bed and snagged a pair of sweatpants off the Throne of Entropy, aka the Mess-Chair. He liked a cold room when it came with warm blankets and one or two people to cuddle, but not if they were gonna be up and moving. Parker didn’t seem bothered by the temperature, but he tossed her one of his t-shirts anyway. She didn’t approve of the Mess-Chair (which was why it was only a chair and not the whole floor), but she did approve of taking his clothes.

“Fine, then you come up with a plan,” she called, head still in the t-shirt.

 _Well, since she brought it up…_ “Hey, babe, quick question. How much of this was planned?”

“Not this part,” she muttered. “My recon work didn’t indicate it would be a factor.”

 _That_ raised plenty more questions, which were anything but quick. “Yeah, okay, you know what, this time I’ll do the planning.” He glanced back at the door. _Sure, no biggie. I’ve never seen Eliot flip out before, but he’s earned the right, and hell, his timing could be much, much worse._

“Step one: change the sheets. Nothin’ feels better than clean sheets. Two: You make tea. Nana always used to give us tea when we had nightmares. Three: I go in there and talk Eliot out of the shower.”

“That’s it?” Parker didn’t look impressed. “A plan isn’t a plan without at least 5 steps. That’s only two.”

“Three!”

“Two. Steps two and three are simultaneous, so they’re A and B. And he’s going to try to run away. Say it’s for our benefit.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not gonna let him till we’re clear on a few things. And seeing how thick-headed he is, we may be in this room for weeks. If he gets past me, as a contingency you do the Parker-puppy eyes. He can’t resist those, no matter how much he grumbles.”

“That’s your only contingency?”

“Only one that comes to mind.” If she was asking, did that mean he’d missed something?

As they changed the sheets, another one occurred to him. “Hey, Parker, you know how to make tea, right?” Thanks to Sophie and Eliot they had plenty in the cupboards and Parker sometimes liked to smell them, but he’d never seen her make a cup.

“Pshh, of course!” She finished tucking in the last corner. “Any other contingencies?”

“Girl, I don’t see how many sub-plans I need for having a conversation. I know he didn’t mean to do it, and exactly what is he gonna threaten me with?” _Leaving. And it won’t be a threat. To Eliot it’ll just be a fact._ He swallowed and tried not to think about that, but if anything, the action just made him think about it harder.

“Okay. I’ll go make tea.” She disappeared, and Hardison, certain now he was missing something, went to the bathroom door.

Which was locked.

“Uh, Parker?”

“Thought of a possible contingency?”

He jumped and turned around to find her at his elbow, lock picks already in hand. Giving him a patented Parker look of scorn, she brushed past and knelt in front of the door. “Kinda pointless to lock it, but Eliot likes his privacy.”

It sounded like a pragmatic analysis of a mark. An entirely accurate analysis of a mark.

“What if it were me in the bathroom?” His curiosity made him ask.

“You’d be more worried I wouldn’t pick it, or Eliot wouldn’t kick it down.” The door popped open and she stood in one fluid motion, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Which is stupid. That won’t happen.”

Hardison slipped in the bathroom, smile dropping off his lips as he shut the door behind him. “Hey, E-Eliot?” It came out a rasp and Eliot didn’t move, possibly hadn’t heard. He stood under the spray of water, eyes forward, and said nothing. Hardison glanced at the mirror, checking his reflection to see if bruises were showing.

Nothing yet. His dark skin hid any sign, and he was both weirdly grateful and aware how fucked up that was. How all of this was.

Also, how the mirror wasn’t foggy. _Look, I may not have anticipated the door, but I’m still a goddamn genius who understands how condensation works._

“Eliot? What the hell, man?” He grabbed a towel, one of the big, fluffy ones Parker liked to steal and smuggle into the vents for her nests, and twisted the faucet, turning off the ice-cold spray. “The hell are you doin’?” he demanded.

Eliot shuddered, goosebumps rising amid the drops of water clinging to his skin. “Don’t.” His voice caught between his standard growl-threat display and something more pleading.

 _Don’t what? Don’t wrap the towel around you, don’t pull you in close, don’t berate you for being an absolute idiot and drama queen, trying to freeze yourself to death in the shower?_ _Don’t say you can’t be forgiven ‘cause there’s nothing to forgive?_

“Okay,” he said, instead, and sat down on the toilet. “Here’s the deal. I ain’t leaving till we talk. I’m askin’ that you don’t leave till we talk. I won’t touch you, if you don’t want to be touched, but take the damn towel. How exactly are you helping things by turning into an icicle?” He stared at Eliot’s shoulder, noting that Parker’s new stitches had survived the action, the angry red edges of the wound puckered against his pale skin. It’d been close. To an artery. To a lung. He couldn’t forget the way Eliot had walked into it, full of confidence and purpose, and no concern for his own well-being.

“Jus’ leave it, Hardison.” He shivered again, bearing a strong resemblance to a wet dog and Hardison compromised his earlier statement by chucking the towel at Eliot’s head. It hit its mark, neatly covering half of his head and one shoulder and Hardison almost laughed, if only because his brain was quickly running out of other coping mechanisms for the events of the last fifteen minutes.

Since Eliot had too much dignity to let it hang there, he had to concede the point, and yanked the towel off his head, giving Hardison a quick glare that completely failed to hide the way his eyes slid over every inch of him, looking for damage. Hardison resisted calling him on it, just watched him levelly and waited.

“You okay?” Eliot asked, and for a question concerned with Hardison’s well-being, it came out harsh and irritated.

Hardison bristled, even though he’d been expecting Eliot’s customary irascibility. Hell, he’d hacked professional systems with fewer defenses than Eliot Spencer. And because he was a damn good hacker, he knew exactly what Eliot was trying to do here. Piss him off, make him yell, make him kick Eliot out.

Well, if he’d wanted him to yell, then he probably shouldn’t have damaged his damn larynx.

“I’m _fine_. Like you always say you are. Sit your ass down.”  

Eliot eyed him again, which told him Eliot’s definition of “fine” _was_ bullshit just as he’d always suspected. He finished drying off, wrapping the towel around his waist before sitting on the edge of the tub. For the first time, Hardison noticed a brand new hole in his drywall, just about the size of Eliot’s fist.

“That hurt?” he asked, nodding at the hole.

Eliot shrugged, flexing his hand. Hardison caught a glimpse of scraped, reddened knuckles before he folded his arms across his chest, hiding them from view. “‘S nothin.” He waited a moment before whispering, “Sorry.”

“Parker’ll turn it into a hideyhole.” Eliot would fix it no matter what happened here. Even if he decided to pick up and leave—and damn, the possibility of that wrenched him harder than everything else put together—he’d wake up one morning to new drywall and a fresh coat of paint.

“Not...Not about that.”

“Well fine, then, don’t apologize for puttin’ holes in my walls. Probably get mold in there now. Turn the whole place into a health hazard.”

“ _Hardison_.”

“I _know_. Eliot. I know.” He wanted to tell him it was okay, but he had a feeling that if he tried to simplify it down to meaningless reassurances, he’d lose the tenuous grasp he had on the situation.

Besides, any good geek knew “I know” meant “I love you,” and Eliot didn’t look up to an “I love you” at the moment. But Hardison needed to say it somehow. Needed to keep saying it till maybe Eliot understood, _really understood_ , what that meant. “Me too.”

Eliot’s head snapped up. “You didn’t do nothin! I...I…” he cut himself short, looking like he might throw up or punch the wall again.

“Yeah, no, you’re right, I should totally grab a hitter who just got shot twice while he’s havin’ a nightmare. Great plan. Works every time.”

“Dammit, Hardison! I shouldn’t’ve…”

“Dammit, Eliot! Shouldn’t have _what_? Had great sex? Cuddled? Fallen asleep? Reacted to a bad dream?” He had a sinking feeling he knew the answer, and enough anger at both himself and Eliot that he wanted to be sure. “Or is it E—all of the above?”

Eliot’s face confirmed it and Hardison felt his heart clench.

“I shoulda anticipated it,” Eliot said finally, his voice a rough mix of resignation and disgust.

Two facts flitted through Hardison’s head and collided with each other. One: “This,” as in, “violent nightmares” was a frequent enough occurrence that Eliot was ashamed he hadn’t considered it might be an issue. Two: For a guy that slept around as much as Eliot did, and was as obsessive as Eliot was about protecting others, that seemed like the type of contingency he _would_ have anticipated. So why hadn’t he?

“What, falling asleep on the job?” Five years of teasing the guy and his mouth had decided it no longer needed to check in with his brain before going at it.

Eliot’s face didn’t really do “hurt,” physical or otherwise. It just supplanted that expression with anger, because repression was _such_ a good coping strategy.

 _And mocking him for it is better? The fuck is wrong with you?_ He knew how seriously Eliot took protecting them. That the types of contingencies he planned for were much more serious than a locked door. _So sure Hardison, demand he cut the binary mindset crap and then twist the knife when he does and something goes wrong. Great plan._  

Eliot had stumbled in here and pointlessly locked the damn door, as if he could shut himself away like that. And he’d barged in anyway, which really was a metaphor for their entire relationship, come to think of it. But the frozen mask of anger he was wearing meant he’d gone and locked the other door. The Eliot-door. And it wasn’t until he saw Eliot’s face close down that he realized how wide Eliot had opened that door tonight.

For a guy who pushed back and complained about everything, in the last few hours, Eliot _hadn’t_. At the time, he’d been focused on how good it felt to _not_ be fighting with Eliot, but in hindsight, the sudden lack of resistance felt like falling through a door he’d been shoving against for years. A door that had just admitted it swung both ways with relatively little persuasion, given how stubborn Eliot was. Not to mention how long Eliot and him could make an argument last.

“I’m sorry, that was a dumbass thing to say. This ain’t your job and—”

The frustration and fury on Eliot’s face faded into a flat, blank smile that was miles worse.

“No, you’re right. This ain’t my job. It’s a stupid idea that’s making my job even more complicated than your stupid shit usually makes it.”

Hardison held his breath. He wanted to ask for clarification on Eliot’s choice of verb tense in that sentence. He wanted to ask if he just fucked everything up by not planning and just letting his mouth run wild. He had hacks for keypads, fingerprints, retinal scanners, voice commands, shit, they’d even gotten past that stupid breathalyzer one. Now if he kept talking, all he’d be doing was banging on a closed door, and he didn’t want to stretch the metaphor quite that far right now.

Eliot got up without another word and walked out.

But that was the thing about being a team. Or two-thirds of very new, definitely-not-doomed threesome. He had backup. And she carried lock picks.

Parker was standing on the other side of the door, with a mug of something that was possibly tea in both hands, and a third balanced on her head. The sight alone would have been enough to stop Eliot in his tracks, but she’d taken Hardison’s advice, and her expression resembled that of a kicked puppy. “You’re leaving us? I made tea.”

He couldn’t see Eliot’s face, but he could imagine the micro-expressions currently tracing fissures in that mask. She’d effectively stopped him dead. He couldn’t brush past her without possibly knocking the mug off its precarious perch, he couldn’t ignore those eyes, and he would have to try the tea, out of sheer morbid curiosity.

Damn, but his girl could open anything. _How’s that for a contingency?_

Eliot sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and rescued the mug from the top of her head. Hardison followed, accepting another mug from her, and took a sip.

Big mistake.

“ _PARKER, THE HELL IS THIS??_ ” Well, at least they were in agreement about the important things.

“Is that...molasses? And _soy sauce_?” Eliot stared at the murky, brown liquid in horror. Hardison somehow made himself swallow and regretted it.

“Tea is hot, brown water.” Parker rolled her eyes at having to state the obvious. “Unless it’s iced tea, and then it’s cold, brown water. Unless you’re in the South and then they force feed you cold, brown water drowned in sugar.” She grinned. “I like that one the best.”

“You ever make this for Sophie, she’ll murder you on general principle.” Eliot growled, wiping a hand across his mouth. He turned and headed for the bedroom door.

“Eliot?”

“This ain’t tea. If we’re having tea, it better deserve the name,” he muttered, and disappeared.

Hardison breathed a sigh of relief. Sure, he couldn’t talk sense into Eliot, but give the man a bad cup of tea— _okay, a really bad cup of something that should never, ever, ever be called tea_ —and he was honor-bound to rectify the situation.

Parker frowned, taking another sip from her mug. “Nothing’s wrong with mine,” she sniffed.

Hardison recalculated the chances that Parker’d made this horrific beverage intentionally. “See, now this is why we need Eliot. Left to our own devices, we gonna poison ourselves.”

“Don’t be silly. I only used things found in the kitchen. Everything found in kitchens is edible.”

Hardison was certain this wasn’t the case, but talking this much and Parker’s “tea” hadn’t helped his throat, so instead of answering, he grabbed his phone and brought up the surveillance feed for the kitchen. He knew Eliot was using the tea thing as a way to have some time alone, but he needed a clue of where this was going.

Eliot, still only wearing the towel, leaned against the counter, literally watching water boil. He’d crossed his arms again, which gave Hardison something to work with. He was, after all, one of the foremost experts on the subtle variations of Eliot’s arm folding habits. Hey, when a guy said as little as Eliot did, other methods of discerning information were required.

The variations of Eliot’s arm crosses included:

The _amused cross_ , where he wrapped fingers around the outside of his arms, and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

The _indignant cross_ ; at least one hand tucked in, making a fist where no one could see it. It appeared when Eliot was considering the value of engaging in an argument, or a fight, but hadn’t actually let loose yet.

The _angry cross_ , which he typically reserved for marks, guys hitting on Sophie or Parker, or when Nate was being more of a dick than usual. That was the one that made his muscles stand out extra huge and threatening.

The _broken/cracked rib cross_ , the _I-did-something-to-my-arm-but-don’t-ask-what cross_ , and the _I-had-to-let-a-bunch-of-thugs-kick-me-in-the-stomach-because-this-plan-sucked cross_ were all self-explanatory, but meant the only person allowed near him was Parker, and that was only because she’d completely ignore the fact that he was injured, to the point of causing him pain.

Then there was the _holding-himself-together-but-no-one-can-ever-know-how-close-it’s-getting cross_. He didn’t see that one much. If he wasn’t a nosy nerd with no respect for other people’s privacy, he’d probably never see it. Maybe wouldn’t recognize it now; Eliot’s arms tight over his stomach, head tucked, apparently staring at the kettle on the stove. It began to whistle, shrill and piercing, and Eliot actually jumped, coming back to himself with a shake.

Hardison shut down the feed, swallowed against the ache in his throat, and tucked the phone away.

“Hey Parker. Thanks for earlier.”

“Earlier what?”

“Telling me and Eliot what to do. You always talk me down. And I mean, Eliot was still an idiot about the shower, but he technically listened.”

Her eyes glinted. “Yes. He did.” She said it with a big ol’ helping of satisfaction and certainty, which meant he should either be reassured, or very, very worried.

Eliot came back in, holding two mugs in one hand, and one in the other, which, Hardison had to admit, was a lot more practical than Parker’s method. He handed the single mug to Hardison with a clipped “drink that” and gave one of the others to Parker.

Hardison took a sip, and a light, sweet, and slightly salty liquid spilled down his throat, bringing instant relief. “That’s incredible.”

“Chamomile. Yours has honey and a bit of sea salt. Should help with the throat.”

“Thanks, man. Look, Eliot--”

“Not talkin’ will also help with the throat.” After he’d shut down the feed, Eliot had apparently gone into mother hen mode, which was miles better than the _cusp-of-some-dread-abyss_ mode Hardison had managed to exacerbate. _Except you’re the one with two bullet holes in you. Let someone else be he damn mother hen._

He had to ignore that. It was part of the unspoken arrangement of the team. Personally, he hated it. Hated acting like he couldn’t see when his friend was in pain, was tired, was pretending. There were times he could bypass the rule, just a bit. Times the Eliot-door cracked open. Like now, with tea made, and Eliot focused on clucking at him.

So he risked teasing him, just a bit. “Thought we already established the way to get me t’do that.” He gave Eliot a suggestive grin and got to watch as Eliot’s face did that thing where it covered fifteen emotions in the space it took most people to get through two.

Finally, Eliot replied, irritatingly pragmatic, “Look, we need to talk about this, but not tonight. I’m takin’ the couch. Go to bed, both of you.” He followed up the statement with a full-on Eliot death-glare, daring him to argue, and Hardison _was_ gonna argue, no doubt about that, but Parker got there first.

“Why do you like the couch so much?” She’d abandoned her concoction for Eliot’s, which meant he’d probably put sugar in it. “I mean, sometimes I like sleeping in the air vent when the world is too big, and Hardison sleeps on his keyboard because that’s where his friends are. Why is the couch special?”

Hardison could think of a whole host of intertwined reasons why Eliot crashed on their couch, the current one being that he was a stiff-necked fool. _He_ , however, did not sleep on his keyboard. Much.

“That’s—that’s different, Parker.”

“Babe, I don’t sleep on my key-”

“Told ya not to talk.”

“And I told you the binary mindset thing was gettin’ old.”

“We’re getting old, standing here!”

“Then quit fighting the inevitable an’ come to bed.”

“Drink the damn tea, Hardison.”

“Make m—”

Parker dropped her mug. It smashed, hot liquid splashing everywhere, and both of them jumped back, Eliot hissing slightly as he landed on his bad leg.

“ _PARKER!_ ” Again with the unison.

“If you two don’t stop, I’m calling Sophie.” She glared at them, hands planted firmly on her hips.

He snuck a glance at Eliot, who side-eyed him though a bit of damp hair, just starting to frizz into curls. He shifted one shoulder in a half-shrug that was, frankly, adorable. Neither of them risked saying a word.

“Good. We need a new plan,” Parker said, satisfaction evident in her tone.

“A _new_ plan?”

“ _Another_ one?”

“Hang on, _another one_?! How many are there so far?”

Parker tossed her head. “In total or successful?”

“BOTH.” Eliot shot him another questioning glance as they answered. This time it was his turn for a shrug. _I only just realized she planned any of this. Hell if I know the extent._

“Successful: two or three, depending on your definition of the word ‘plan.’ In total: five. No—six, but that one never got off the ground at all.” She frowned, irritated at the fact.

Eliot looked confused, basically the default setting for a Parker explanation. “Why? What were you plannin’ for?”

“For you?” It emerged somewhere between the most obvious statement in the world and an entirely uncertain question.

He stood there, dumbfounded, and Hardison wanted to step in and help her explain, but Parker rushed on, her words beginning to resemble a runaway train. “We’ve talked about it. About you becoming part of an us. This us.” She indicated herself and Hardison, which he kinda thought was overkill, but she’d been doing a damn sight better at keeping Eliot here.

_Let Parker be Parker._

“Alec said you’d say no. And that you’d have a bunch of reasons for saying no. And that I wasn’t allowed to say your reasons were stupid. Even if they were. So I needed a plan that gave you a reason to say yes.”

Her eyes jumped to his, and he managed a quick nod of encouragement before she refocused on Eliot. “But he said “ _no plans_ ,” because plans that manipulated a person were like cons, and you don’t like it when your crew cons you.”

Eliot’s mouth twisted, but he didn’t say anything. Parker rarely explained her processes, thought or otherwise, in such detail.

“So I had to scrap my first set of plans, and redo them with no lying, but that didn’t matter because Alec was scared things would go wrong and we’d break the team, and that can’t happen. He’s right.” She glared at him, clearly irritated she’d had to admit that. “I was there when Nate got contacted about doing the nun job in DC. I told him we’d do it and that way he and Sophie could have all the sex they’ve been pretending not to have. He said fine, probably because he wanted me to stop talking.”

Hardison choked on the sip he was taking. Another lock pick in Parker’s arsenal, apparently.

“I’d like you to _keep_ talkin’,” was all Eliot said. He stood perfectly still, the mug of tea forgotten in his hand.

She took a deep breath. “Okay. I thought while we were in DC, the pretzels would be really obvious, but then there were snipers, and terrorists, and bombs, and—oh.” The flow of words slammed to a stop, her eyes locked with Eliot’s, and Hardison found himself catapulted back to the subway car, watching that same look pass between them. She’d exchanged a silent decision with Eliot, kissed him for luck, and dashed out onto the tracks holding a briefcase full of a weaponized bio-hazard while Eliot charged a terrorist shooting at him from point blank range.

Because that was what his people did.

_And I panicked and tried to stop Parker. Great job there, Alec._

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” She tilted her head, bird-like. “That’s what scared me about pretzels, at first. That I’d lose what made me…me. Like you said.”

Eliot’s brow furrowed. “Like I said?”

“In the cave. You said that being able to do the things we did didn’t make us bad. It just made us…us. I didn’t know I was afraid of losing that. Not until later. When Alec explained pretzels. But I didn’t lose it. I’m still Parker. And you’ll still be Eliot. Pretzels won’t make you lose what makes you…you.” She gave him a reassuring smile.

“It ain’t losin’ myself I’m afraid of.” The statement was bitter, blunt, tired, and far more honest than Hardison expected Eliot to admit to. Hell, even Eliot looked a bit surprised.  

Parker teleported. One moment she was standing apart from them, separated by shards of ceramic and puddled tea, and the next she’d wrapped herself around Eliot, who grunted at the impact. “Well, you’re not losing us.” She buried her face in his shoulder and stayed there.

Eliot’s face ran through a whole season-long arc of expressions before settling on something akin to resignation. “You were sayin? About DC?” he prompted, ignoring Parker’s surprise effusion.

Parker shifted slightly, not away from Eliot, but around, until she’d wedged herself under his left arm. The move reincorporated Hardison into their circle and allowed Eliot to lean on her, taking his weight off that leg. He did, without arguing.

_We should move this along. To a warm, cozy bed, preferably._

Parker continued as if they were just hanging out, chatting about a normal job, not a secret Lets-Go-Steal-a-Boyfriend Job. “I thought if you saw how well we worked, it would be obvious, but because we worked well it _wasn’t_. Even if you were all touchy and dropping feelings everywhere when we left the ambulance.” She grinned up at him. “So I needed to break something, just a little, to throw off the equilibrium so we’d have to find it again. And it’s easy to unbalance someone, if kissing’s an option. Every time I kiss Hardison during a job, he gets flustered and takes longer to hack something.”

Eliot snorted and some of his tension seemed to ease as he waggled his eyebrows at Hardison. _Yeah yeah, like you were so smooth when she kissed you. Girl’s got us both dead to rights._

“You kiss more people, so your equilibrium is better, but those are quick jobs, they don’t involve scouting and surveillance like you do with us when you think I’m not looking.”

Now it was Eliot’s turn to choke on his tea. “And?”

“You know the rest. Hardison had to use a lot of words, but it worked.”

Eliot hesitated. “Yeah, I guess it did. What about plan number 2?”

“Oh, that was just an on-the-spot contin—”

“While you was freezin’ your ass—” Hardison hastily interrupted. They did not need to be talking about contingencies right now.

“ _I said no talking_.”

“We thought you’d run and say it was for our benefit. So Hardison went in to talk to you and I…”

“Made _tea_.” Lesser men may have found it difficult to inject that much love and disgust into two words.

“What does yours taste like?” Parker asked, as if she hadn’t just confessed to making six plans worthy of Nate to crack the Eliot-safe. Eliot handed it her. She took a sip and made a face. “Blech. Tastes like leaf water.”

“Well, that’s what it is. I just added a bunch’a rock sugar to yours. Not that you seemed to appreciate that.” He took the mug back, but didn’t drink, just stared into it, or possibly past it, to Parker’s, puddled on the floor. “Parker, you did all that plannin’ just to get me t’ understand pretzels?”

Hardison desperately wanted to kiss him for saying the word seriously, with no hint of mockery. He desperately wanted to kiss him for plenty of other reasons too, but this time they were going to open that door nice and slow.

“Yes. But this is more complicated than pretzels. Pretzels are just there, ready when you are, but I don’t have a contingency plan for this.”

“Me neither.” He continued to stare at his mug, closing his eyes for a long moment. “But I’m game if you are.”

“Really?” He half expected to get reprimanded for talking again, but Eliot just nodded, cautiously. “Can we do it in bed, cause my feet are freezing.” _And you gotta be one big icicle._

“Ain’t that cold in here.” Hardison could've sworn he saw him shiver, but Eliot was moving to the bed, arm still slung over Parker, so he wasn’t gonna press his luck by calling out the obvious. _Guy loves his hoodies and henleys and flannels and beanies, but sure, you just keep pretending you ain’t cold._

Parker ducked out suddenly, and Eliot staggered. “Parker, what the—?”

“Can’t leave the broken mug there, it’s in an exit route.” She started picking up the pieces of ceramic.

Hardison set his own mug down, and returned to Eliot’s side, slinging an arm around him in a not-so-subtle invitation while whispering, “She takes those seriously.”

“It’s on the way to the door.” Eliot, surprisingly, took the invitation and let Hardison support some of his weight. Warmth flooded the pit of his stomach and suddenly the room didn’t feel as chilly. “Since when does Parker use doors?”

“Nah, man, it’s our exit route. Yours n’ mine.”

“Should I be insulted?”

“If you’re botherin’ to ask, probably not. I just choose to appreciate her acceptance of my limitations.”

“Yeah, well, if there’s any reason we do need an exit route, I’m going through that door first, you hear me?”

“Loud n’ clear.” He gave Eliot a shove, and somehow came away holding the towel, while Eliot face-planted on the bed with a grunt. “Whoopsie.”

Eliot mumbled something unintelligible and probably not very nice into the bedding.

“Yeah, well maybe don’t insist on standing on a shot-up leg for over an hour. And if you say ‘I’ve had worse,’ I will figure out how to snap this towel.”

Eliot twisted his head to cock an eyebrow in Hardison’s general direction. “Figure out? _Seriously?_ Nerd.”

“Hey, age of the g—”

“Shuddup, Hardison.”

By the time Parker launched herself onto the bed, he’d been told to shut up five more times, but he and Eliot were both under blissfully warm blankets, leaning against the headboard, and, in Eliot’s case, on Hardison’s right shoulder. He’d started out leaning on the headboard as well, but since his head hit Hardison’s shoulder a minute ago and stayed there, Hardison wasn’t about to complain. Or move.

Parker wiggled in under Eliot’s arm and he roused himself with a start. “So, mastermind, what’s the plan?” he drawled.

“Need data first.” 

Hardison tapped his phone to turn off the lights. “We could just leave the planning till morning, guys.”

Eliot gave himself a shake. “I ain’t sleepin.” _Like hell, you ain’t. Any other blatantly obvious shit you wanna deny?_

“I’ve babysat less stubborn two-year-olds, you know that?”

“Don’t care.”

“Are they usually like that?” Parker asked.

“The two-year-olds?”

“ _Shut up, Hardison_ ,” both of them chorused.

Well fine, if they were gonna be that cute while takin’ him down a notch.

Eliot shifted slightly. “The dreams? Yeah. No one’s around to get hurt, though.”

“No one’s around? Man, you constantly hooking up with someone.”

“Sure, but I don’t actually _sleep_ with ‘em.”

“So, what, you just stay awake and stare?”

“Fuck no, that’s creepy. I meditate, slip out for a run, get up early an’ cook. I ain’t gotta waste the time.”

“How is staring at people while they sleep creepy?” Parker sounded genuinely perplexed. Given her earlier mention of recon involving Eliot, probably best to skip over that.

“An’ this is ‘cause you’re worried about having a bad dream?”

“Nah, it’s cause then I can’t get jumped.”

That hadn’t occurred to him. A lot of things about Eliot hadn’t occurred to him. “That’s _happened_?!”

“Few times. First one was a surprise, but ain’t somethin’ ya hafta learn twice.”

“Shouldn’t be something you have to learn once,” Parker said.

“Exactly!”

“Very stupid. Especially going into enemy territory like you always do.”

“Wait, no, not exactly...not that at all! A date ain’t enemy territory, y’all!”

“Parker, you followin’ me on dates??”

 _Probably. And watching you sleep._ Hardison face-palmed. “Can’t you just run a full background check like a—”

“If you say ‘normal person,’ I’m kickin’ you out of this bed. And no, that’s disrespectful! Nine times outta ten, they ain’t tryin’ to kill me.”

Hardison switched to thumping his head against the headboard. 

“Frequency?” Parker broke in and Hardison almost answered that he was going at roughly thirty-three beats per minute, but was thinking about upping the tempo.

“Not so much anymore. Mostly just after jobs. No point in goin’ back t’ sleep if they start. They’ll just keep coming.”

“We aren’t dead.” She said it simply, as if it were the only reasonable response, and Hardison froze, feeling like six different kinds of ass for not the first time that night. Eliot’s nightmares _would_ be a _Choose Your Own Adventure_ , George R. R. Martin style, starring them as corpses.

“And if I’m awake, you’ll stay that way.” His voice was hard and brittle.

He considered calling Eliot out on _that_ seriously fucked up mindset, but mocking him seemed like a better idea for some reason.

“Lemme get this straight. In between Aimee and us, you’ve assumed just about everyone you’ve dated could attempt to kill you? One, that’s hella messed up. Two, it makes your attempt on my life earlier more ironic than that Alanis song.”

Eliot stiffened beside him. “That ain’t funny.” _Hardison, your mouth better have a good reason for this that you’ll share with your brain pretty darn quick._

“Agreed, it’s definitely not high on my list of ways to wake up. And thinking someone’s about to murder you isn’t high on your list either. So I want a save game.” _Oh. Good reason. Damn mouth, you good._

“You want a _what_?”

“Seriously?? Do you not pay attention _at all_ when I’m gaming? A save point. A do-over. So next time I don’t scare you half to death and nearly get myself killed. Though given the lengths you go to not kill people you really don’t like, I’m not too worried.” He wasn’t. Not because his brain and his mouth had teamed up enough to come up with an actual plan, but Eliot was still here, so things could be a lot worse.

“You had a panic attack!”

“And you put a hole in the wall and tried to turn yourself into an ice cube. You’re makin’ my argument for me.”

“Parker, tell this idiot—”

“Nah, babe, you tell this stub—”

“Both of you SHUT. UP.”

They did. Not much else you could do when Parker used _that_ voice.

“If we stay awake, both of you will just keep arguing, and besides, Eliot hasn’t slept in going on three days and that’s irresponsible body management.”

“Parker, you live off of cereal and donuts!”

“He’s got a point, babe, but also, _what the hell_ , Eliot?” He’d seen him handle sleep deprivation in typical Eliot fashion, but there was a big difference between enforced or adrenaline-based deprivation, and basic stubbornness. Even with Eliot. _Come to think of it, cold showers..._

“We made a lot of noise in DC and pissed off some bad people who know my name, what I d— _used to_ do—and that I’m running with you two. I wasn’t lettin’ my guard down till we were out of there.”

 _An’ that’s exactly why you’re beatin’ yourself up now_. He’d been overtired, injured, thrown off (intentionally) by Parker’s kiss and Hardison’s follow-up, and he’d let his guard down. Down in the brewery, when Eliot finally relaxed into his arms, he’d thought he had some idea of how huge a step that was, trust-wise, but now it felt like only the tip of an iceberg. _You thought you wouldn’t dream about us being dead if we were right there. You thought you were safe. And instead you nearly made your nightmare a reality._ Now wasn’t that a little too ironic.

And meanwhile, he’d been badgering Eliot for the past hour, scared that he’d up and leave, while Eliot was dealing with his literal wake-up call that he couldn’t trust himself and the subsequent guilt spiral.

And sure, he’d known that, but he hadn’t _known_ that. Damn, that sleeping on the job joke was even worse now. _No more talking, Hardison._

The only thing he had left was pretzels.

So he pressed his lips lightly to Eliot’s temple and lingered a moment, feeling the way he relaxed and stiffened again.

“Do you want to be here?” Parker asked, voice soft. All the arguing he and Eliot had done tonight, and he hadn’t tried to ask that, afraid of the answer.

“Yes.” The word seemed to escape past Eliot’s defenses, as if she’d lifted it, neat as you please.

“Okay, then you’re staying.” She stated it as simple fact and Hardison took a breath to respond and felt Eliot do the same. “Hardison, hack Eliot,” she ordered, before either of them could speak.

“Hold up a sec! Look, Parker, when I said we should hack Eliot, instead of steal him, I didn’t mean—” Even as his mouth took off again, he had an idea.

“Hack me _INSTEAD_ of steal me? The hell is wrong with you people? You don’t—hasn’t anyone been in a normal relationship before?”

“Pretty sure that’s your thing, man. Least I thought it was your thing up until like two minutes ago.”

He felt Eliot’s arm move to pinch the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh. “‘M gonna regret this. _How_ did you intend to hack me?”

“Okay, first, that analogy was for a different type of hack. I was comparing you to a firewall.”

Eliot snorted. Hardison couldn’t have explained how he knew it was an amused snort, but it was. “I’ll take it. And now?”

Hardison took a deep breath and grabbed his phone, setting a series of alarms as he talked. “Nightmares usually occur during REM cycles, which start about 90 minutes in. During REM, you get the most vivid dreams, ‘cause your brain’s close to wakin’, but your body’s basically paralyzed, so you don’t do anythin’ stupid. Course the downside to that is, sometimes you can feel that paralysis in the dream, and it just freaks you out more. And then some idiot tries to shake you out of it and you...”

“Overreact.” Eliot actually sounded grudgingly accepting of this logic. _Finally._

“Just a tad. But, as I keep saying, I shouldn’t have grabbed you.” He handed Eliot the phone. “This ‘hack’ won’t work too well on a normal person, but theoretically, it should for you. Or Parker, if she ever wants to use it.”

“No one’s ‘normal.’ Quit sayin’ that.”

“I _know_ that. Nana says normal is what works for you. She’s right, as always. But in this case what works for you ain’t gonna work with most people’s ‘normal’. You decide to fall asleep, how long it take you? When you’re not being stubborn and falling asleep on my shoulder, I mean.”

He could sense Eliot’s impulse to deny it. _It’s called micro-sleeping, and if you make me call you on it, I’m gonna use the word ‘distinctive,’ just to piss you off._

 _“_ ‘Bout thirty seconds, but that’s just training.”

“Same,” Parker added. “It’s efficient.”

“Regardless, people, that ain’t norm—” He broke off, thumped his head again, and continued, “ _within three standard deviations of the goddamn mean_. Your average Joe takes about ten to twenty minutes. Hell, I usually take at least a good hour if I’m lucky. So setting a series of alarms that are timed to interrupt me right before I get cozy in REM don’t really work, ‘cause I don’t know when I’ll get there. But you two literally flip a switch and it’s lights out. And, you flip a switch and it’s lights back on, if you need to. So setting a bunch of timers is a stupid simple way to hack ya.”

There was a long pause before Eliot asked, “How d’you know all this, anyway?”

“Hey man, you ain’t the only person round here with nightmares. I wanted to know what the hell was goin’ on in my own head.” He sighed. “‘Course, I ain’t some ninja hitter, so wakin’ me up is a bit safer.”

“He just kicks and makes funny noises.”

“So all I need is a _phone_?”

 _And years of therapy. But since you won’t go for that, regular hugs._ “It should work for tonight. I can make you somethin’ better tomorrow.”

“If the phone works, it works.”

He could feel the return of Eliot’s intransigence and sighed, suddenly very tired. Every time he thought he was getting somewhere… “Then go the fuck to sleep so we can test it.” It came out harsher and less Sam Jackson than he intended, and he heard Eliot’s breath catch for a moment.

_Pretzels, Hardison, pretzels. Make the offer, but quit pushing. He’ll get there. Time and space._

“The phone’ll go off every hour and a half,” he continued. “Not the best night’s sleep, but better’n nuthin’, or whatever you’ve been getting. It’s also hooked into the security system. A system I built—”

“And I tested,” Parker added. She slid down almost fully under the blanket, and peeked back up at them, impatient for company.

“An’ anytime she manages to get through without tripping it, I close the loophole.” He scooched down as well, letting his head hit the pillow rather than the headboard, forcing himself to trust that Eliot would follow when he was ready. “So if we do need to use that exit route, you can go first, but you wait till I tell ya what’s on the other side.” _You’re safe. We’re safe. You can stand down._ He couldn’t say that. Or he could, but it wouldn’t make a difference. But he knew Eliot trusted his tech, even if he hated to admit it.

Eliot stayed upright for almost a full minute before sliding down under the covers, curled on his side away from Hardison, clutching the phone.

“Hey, Eliot?” he whispered.

“If I hafta tell you to shuddup one more time—”

He grinned at the familiar growl. “Kiss for luck?”

In the sudden stillness, he could hear the exasperated exhale. He waited one, two, three beats, before Eliot uncurled, allowing himself to fall back against Hardison’s chest. There had only been a gap of a few inches between them, but in closing it the distance felt greater.

“Don’t believe in luck,” Eliot murmured, the sound of his voice slipping into a low hum as Hardison slid an arm around his waist, careful not to bump his shoulder.

He leaned over Eliot’s ear. “That’s just cause you’re a stubb—”

And Eliot kissed him, though whether it was for luck or to get him to shut up, Hardison didn’t know.

Or care.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There's one more part to this! whenever I stop tweaking it, Parker will get her turn.


End file.
